


To Build Your House on Solid Ground

by theslovenlyfool



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Laurent is sad, M/M, Nikandros the Long Suffering, Pallas and Erasmus the Very Gay, and then Damen comes, but also major character reincarnation, haunted houses here we come, haunted mansion crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-11-21 19:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11363670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theslovenlyfool/pseuds/theslovenlyfool
Summary: “I must go, I will return in an instant,” his love explained, pressing soft kisses to the cheek of his mask. “Wait for me,” he whispered, brushing his nose along Laurent’s.Laurent smiled, happiness bubbling from him uncontrollably. “Always,” he returned.He watched his love walk away. He let his love walk away. For the rest of eternity, he would regret that decision. For the rest of eternity he would regret everything.The Haunted Mansion crossover literally no one asked for.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I'll probably be posting twice a week for the next couple of weeks. I've got most of the fic finished, but I'm still working on some of the chapters. Enjoy!

With a week to go before Halloween and a long road trip ahead of them, Nikandros was twelve songs deep into his Spooky Playlist. They would have been thirteen songs in, but Erasmus and Pallas had demanded a replay of “The Monster Mash” and while the backseat had few privileges, they were in charge of snack distribution. For the sake of his future hunger, and Damen’s persistence that “The Monster Mash” was a classic and deserved the replay, Nik agreed to give it another go. 

“This job better be good, Damen, the gas cost alone is going to bite us in the ass,” Nikandros grumbled. 

“I’m telling you, the guy was super down to pay for everything. He even said we could stay the night instead of getting a hotel. And it’s a mansion, dude. How cool is that?” Damen said, repeating the same argument that had gotten Nik in the van. 

Akielos Contractors didn’t usually go this far off the grid, but when Damen brought it up to the team, Pallas and Erasmus had been psyched as hell to go to a creepy mansion in a swamp in the middle of October. 

“Do you think there're ghosts? There better be ghosts,” Pallas said, fidgeting with a piece of wire. 

Erasmus had paled next to him. “I mean, there could just be some really nice carpentry. There’s no need for ghosts.” 

“Dude, the house is like a bazillion years old, if there isn’t one weird death story then they’re lying to us,” Pallas retorted. 

“Either way, we’re going to make a killing, renovating their entire house so they can move,” Damen said. 

And that had been that, really. It was a big step for Akielos Contractors, getting such a bougie job. 

Nikandros grumbled into his can of Pringles and turned up the radio, now playing the theme from the Addam’s Family. In the backseat, Erasmus burst into impassioned song. “Kill it, man,” Pallas said through a mouthful of gummy bears. 

Damen laughed, pulling the van down a private driveway longer than the block he lived on. Around them, swampy trees loomed. The car fell into an awed silence. 

“Rich people, man,” Erasmus muttered.

“Only white people would think building a mansion on a swamp was a good idea,” Nikandros grumbled. 

“Shh, these white people are going to be paying us hella, they can do what they like,” Damen said in a hushed tone. 

He rolled the van to a stop in front of a giant, iron gate, upon which a giant letter 'V' hung in faded gold. Damen felt Nik roll his eyes beside him. 

“What’s the V stand for?” Pallas whispered, poking his head around Damen’s shoulder. 

“Very pretentious,” Nik said. 

“I was going to go for Vicious, do you see those flying buttresses,” Erasmus muttered, stealing some of Pallas’ gummy bears. 

“Actually, it stands for Vere, according to the dude I spoke to,” Damen stage whispered. “Come on, let’s get the gate open so we can meet our clients.” He put the car in park and hopped out of the van. 

Around him, the autumn wind whistled restlessly. Damen ran his hands along his faded jeans, wishing he had put on his jacket. His flannel shirt was doing nothing against the chill. 

Before him, the house, the mansion, loomed before him. Damen blinked, his eyes grazing the sun-faded exterior, the overgrown vines crawling up the walls, the murky swamp that surrounded the property. At the front of the center of the facade was a giant, round window. Damen smiled, for no reason really, except that the mansion was beautiful even when it was falling to pieces. Something about that window made his heart swell. It must be an amazing view. 

Damen pressed his hand against the gate, a simple touch, and the gate swung open. Shocked, Damen stumbled forward. The thing didn’t even creak as it flung itself wide, clearing the path for the van. Damen blinked, grinning slightly. 

When he turned around, Nik was frowning. 

“What the hell?” He asked as Damen got back into the driver’s seat. 

“What?” Damen asked, heading down the driveway. 

“That gate just...opened,” Nik complained. 

“Well, at least we know it doesn’t need any maintenance,” Damen said. 

In the back, Pallas sighed in relief. As their metal worker, it would have been his job to mess with the giant, creepy, bougie gate. Damen grinned. 

“All right, squad, remember, these people think we’re professionals so keep it chill. They’re letting us spend the night so don’t fuck around too much.” He gave a wink. 

“Who-who do you think is going to be fucking? Literally the biggest man-whore here is you, and no one is fucking anyone in this car...right?” Nik said. 

“Right,” Erasmus said, rolling his eyes. “Just because we’re the gayest contractors in the state doesn’t mean we’ve all had sex with each other.” 

“Exactly. Erasmus has a boyfriend, what do you take me for? A homewrecker?” Pallas said, affronted. 

“Pallas, you have a boyfriend,” Nik shot back, already exasperated. 

Pallas grinned. “Wrecking two homes with one bone.” 

“Don’t you dare, I like Kallias and Lazar. They don’t need that shit from you,” Damen said as he put the car in park. “But seriously guys, keep this classy.” 

“Will do, Captain,” Pallas teased, giving Damen a mock salute as they piled out of the car and headed toward a door that frankly seemed to overcompensate for something. 

Erasmus jumped for the giant door knocker and failed to reach it by an inch. Damen laughed before knocking himself. 

Once again, the door opened easily under his touch. 

“Weird as shit,” Nik said, eyes narrowing. 

“Give it a rest, Nik,” Pallas said, “Damen just has the magic touch it would seem.”

Damen would have made some euphemism about his ‘magic touch’ but he was too distracted by what lay beyond the front door. Excitement bubbled out of every pour of his body. This place was amazing. 

He stepped into the dark hallway, head held up to gape at the ceiling, which was painted with what looked to be a masquerade scene. “Wow,” he muttered. Behind him, Pallas whistled. 

Erasmus looked almost in tears already. “Oh, this is going to be fun to work on.” He touched the woodwork on one of the staircases, eyes alight. 

“I’m glad you like it,” A stiff voice said. 

The four men spun around, shocked to find someone closing the front door behind them. 

The man before them was in his late forties, early fifties. His light hair was slicked out of his face and he wore an impeccable, albeit, old fashioned velvet suit. Erasmus took a small step back. Damen, behind him, noticed the move instantly and immediately went on guard. Erasmus was an excellent reader of people, and he was particularly sensitive to creepy dudes. On more than one occasion, that sense had prevented bad situations before they could begin. Damen trusted Erasmus’ instincts better than he trusted his own, especially in situations like this. 

“Hello,” Damen said, remembering that he was, in fact, in charge and thus should probably say something. “We’re Akielos Contractors. I’m Damianos, and these are my technicians, Nikandros, Pallas, and Erasmus.” 

“Welcome,” the cool voice said in a not so welcoming manner. 

Erasmus stiffened. 

“I am the Regent,” the man continued. 

Nikandros scoffed beside Damen. “What, like royalty?” 

The Regent raised a lazy eyebrow. 

“Oh,” Nik said. “Sorry...your Highness?” 

“Regent is fine,” the Regent said with a grimace. 

Damen could feel how badly Nik wanted to roll his eyes. 

“Come, dinner is being prepared,” the Regent said, directing them toward a room between the two staircases. 

The squad bunched together, immediately on edge as they were lead into the back of the house. Outside, thunder cracked. Pallas grabbed Nik’s arm. Nik didn’t even shrug it off. 

The dining room was stunning, a giant table with wooden carved chairs standing before a giant fireplace. Damen’s eyes lit up at the craftsmanship of the mantel, and he broke from his companions to get a better look. 

“This detail is stunning. Nik, look at these carvings,” Damen said, running his hands over the floral design that ran across the entire mantlepiece. 

“Are you kidding, look at this food,” Nik retorted, sitting himself right next to a giant plate of steak. 

“What is this?” A sharp voice demanded, storming through the hall like a winter wind. 

Damen turned to see a young man, strikingly beautiful, march toward the Regent, eyes on fire. “Uncle, who are these...” the man assessed the men before him, “people?” 

The Regent gave a placid smile. “Why, they are here to fix up our dump of a home.” 

The man’s eyes narrowed. He looked at his company, he watched them watch him in shock and embarrassment. He opened his mouth to say something and bit his tongue. From his position by the fireplace, partially hidden by the mantel, Damen watched the man skewer his friends with a cold stare. “If they touch anything-” 

“They are here to fix things, nephew, nothing more,” the Regent said, barely containing a put-upon sigh.

“Oh, don’t worry, sir, we’ll take care to respect the original craftsmanship of the building. We are more than qualified to do so and trust me when I say, this is the most beautiful house I’ve ever been in, we’ll make sure to keep it that way.” Damen said, stepping forward in hopes of cooling the man’s anger. 

The man turned to look at Damen for the first time. Damen went breathless with the full attention of those eyes on him. The anger in the man’s face turned into, for a moment, a pale shock, which was almost immediately smothered by neutral indifference. 

“And you are?” The man asked. 

Damen blinked, still confused by the horrified stare he had first received. “I- I’m Damianos, I’m in charge of our little motley crew.” 

“Damianos,” the man nearly whispered. 

Damen was beginning to realize that the room had gone deathly quiet during their exchange. “You can call me Damen,” he said. 

The man scoffed, as though this were funny. “Can I?” 

“Yes,” Damen said, with more earnestness than made sense. 

For a moment, it looked as though the man might punch him. Instead he turned on his heels and left the room. He didn’t look back, and the door slammed shut behind him. 

The Regent looked at Damen with a hard stare before turning to the rest of his crew. “Forgive my nephew, he’s...bitchy.” 

Nik laughed. “You could say that.” 

Damen frowned. He’s not bitchy, he wanted to say, he’s just...But he couldn’t think of anything. Probably because the dude was pretty bitchy. 

Damen moved to sit beside Pallas as they ate. Throughout dinner, he kept looking at the door. He wondered if the man had gotten any supper. 

 

_All around Laurent was music. All around him was laughter and light and golden happiness. He was descending the steps, coming down to greet his guests, to dance with his friends. His hair was braided down his back, a velvet ribbon brushing against his back. The mask pressed against his eyes shone as gold as his hair, as bright as his eyes. It had been specifically chosen because it allowed the free movement of his mouth._

_Laurent was incandescently happy. He was not lonely. He would never be lonely again. All those he loved were here, and his lover would always be here. He had promised. Laurent still felt that lingering promise against his lips, his neck, his shoulders, he stomach._

_At the foot of the stairs, his love stood waiting for him, his easy smile shining brighter than the entire hall. Laurent could not contain the delight in his returned grin._

_“Hello, sweetheart,” he said as Laurent reached him. Instantly, their fingers were intertwined. Instantly, his love was kissing the back of his hand._

_Laurent laughed at the inside joke and lead his love to the ballroom floor. “I love this song,” he explained and his love pulled him close._

_Laurent’s heart pounded with happiness. He would have this. He would have this every day for the rest of his life._

_As the song ended, he pulled his love into a sweet kiss, the noses of their masks clanking together. His love laughed against his lips before pulling away. Laurent’s grip tightened, the loss already too much. How dare his love take a step away from him._

_“I must go, I will return in an instant,” his love explained, pressing soft kisses to the cheek of his mask. “Wait for me,” he whispered, brushing his nose along Laurent’s._

_Laurent smiled, happiness bubbling from him uncontrollably. “Always,” he returned._

_He watched his love walk away. He let his love walk away. For the rest of eternity, he would regret that decision. For the rest of eternity he would regret everything._


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll post Monday and Friday, that sounds like a good plan. Also, thanks so much to the awesome feedback! I'm so excited that ya'll're excited!

The room Damen and Nikandros were given was across the hall from Pallas and Erasmus’. It also looked like a Victorian grandmother had been let loose to decorate as she pleased. The room wasn’t...poorly decorated, but it wasn’t like the dining room nor the front all, which had both been open and tasteful. The room, for one thing, had five times more furniture than it needed. Nikandros was able to sprawl on one couch and prop his feet up on another while Damen sat on yet another couch across from him. 

“What did you think of that one dude? He seemed hella prissy, storming through the house like that,” Nik muttered, already half asleep. Nik had an annoying habit of being able to sleep anywhere in an instant. 

Damen shrugged. “Didn’t really get to know him.” 

Nik’s head shot up, eyes narrowing. “I hate you,” he grumbled. 

Damen frowned. “What?” 

“That’s all it takes, isn’t it? Blonde hair and blue eyes and you’re a gonner. The dude was a straight up asshole, but do you care? No! In fact, you like it! Because you’re a masochist! Stop flirting with our clients!” Nik stormed, arms flailing. 

“I didn’t flirt with him!” Damen said. 

“Oh, really? Because I could cut that sexual tension with a knife! ‘You can call me Damen,” Nik said, doing an excellent impersonation of Damen. He put his hand on his hip as he moved to imitate Laurent: “Can I?” He said, voice obnoxiously breathy. “We’ve got two days here and then you’ll never be seeing him again. I am not staying here in creepy mansion motel six more nights than necessary just because you want to get your freak on,” Nik concluded, breathless. 

Damen threw a couch cushion at him, trying not to grin. “Get my freak on? Really, Nik?” 

Nik gave him a withered look. “With that dude? It would be freaky. There’s no doubt in my mind, that man is kinky.” 

Damen pursed his lips. “You have no right to talk about him like that. He’s our client, for one, and a person, for two.” 

Nik rolled his eyes to the heavens. “You’re right. I’m sorry I called our bitchy client kinky. For all we know, his kinks could be tender love and care. I rescind my comment. I also call taking a shower first.” He said the last sentence as he pulled himself up from the couch and headed toward the bathroom. “Try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone.” 

Damen grinned. “I’ll try.” 

Ten minutes later, Damen was wandering the mansion, completely lost, and loving every second of it. 

The place seemed almost to have been made by two people. Or rather, the building itself had clearly been made by one designer, with a distinct aesthetic in mind, and then someone had seemed to storm in and impose their stuffy taste on what would have been an otherwise stunning house. 

Damen found himself marveling at the gaul of this design imposter. He was in an upper sitting room, which had two walls completely made of balconied, floor-to-ceiling windows, each with sheer white curtains to keep out any glaring sun. The walls were painted to match in a light and cheerful yellow and the floor had been left a cherry hardwood, making the skeleton of the room open and cheerful and bright. But the room instead felt drab and confined with heavy furniture everywhere and odd paintings covering the walls. Most of the windows had been covered by thick curtains and the floor was covered with a matching carpet. Damen frowned, anger bubbling to his throat for no reason. What did it matter to him how they decorated their house? But it did, on some odd level it bothered him very much. Someone’s personality and love, someone’s hopes for this mansion had been so obviously and carefully put into the design of these rooms, and someone else had had the audacity to ignore their obvious wishes. 

“Enjoying the curtains?” A voice from behind ask. 

Damen jumped, pulling his hand from the curtain as he spun around to see the Regent’s nephew leaning stiffly against the doorframe. 

“S-sorry,” Damen said, shoving his hands into his pockets. The man hadn’t scolded him, but he certainly felt scolded, as if he had been caught touching art in a museum. 

The Regent’s nephew grimaced. “Of all the rooms in the house, why did you choose to glare at this one’s curtains?” 

Damen shrugged. “I...They’re hideous,” he said without thinking. 

The Regent’s nephew rose an eyebrow. “What?” 

“The curtains, their appallingly ugly. I mean, the whole point of the room is to let sunlight in, and there are these heavy curtains all over them. It just seems...odd.” Damen said, deciding the best course of action was to state his opinion in full before the Regent’s nephew verbally abused him. 

Instead, the man pursed his lips. “I hate this room,” He said simply and stepped back into the hallway. 

Damen, because he was a masochist, as Nik so colorfully put it, followed him. “Why?” he called after him as he hastened to keep up. 

“Because the curtains are appallingly ugly,” the Regent’s nephew retorted, refusing to wait up for Damen. 

But Damen was larger, and had a longer leg span, and he was also desperate to keep talking to this asshole, so he caught up before the Regent’s nephew reached the stairs to the front hallway. 

Together they descended, the Regent’s nephew running his hand along the bannister with the grace of someone who should have been wearing lace cuffs. Certainly, Damen thought, assessing his choice in clothing, lace cuffs wouldn’t be out of bounds. He wondered if the Regent and his nephew ever did Renaissance Fairs. “What rooms do you like then?” Damen asked as they descended. 

“My rooms,” the nephew said and turned quickly from the stairs to a small door off of the front hall. In a single motion, he opened the door, let himself in, and slammed it back in Damen’s face. Damen tried not to feel personally attacked. 

~*~ 

Pallas had not been expecting the glowing ghost ball. He couldn’t help that he had dropped the music box he’d been holding and let out a shriek. “Erasmus!” He called, stumbling away from the ghost ball as quickly as possible. “Erasmus!” He nearly screamed, hysteria washing over him as he nearly fell into an armchair. 

Erasmus burst forth from the bathroom, still drying his hands. He looked at his friend, now half fallen on an armchair, and then at the ghost ball, glowing gold in their dimly lit room. 

He dropped the hand towel. 

“Oh my-” Erasmus said, instantly shaking. 

“It’s a ghost!” Pallas stage whispered, as though the ghost ball wouldn’t hear him, as though Erasmus couldn’t see that it was a ghost. 

“H-hello, ghost ball,” Erasmus greeted. The ball seemed to drift toward him, glowing faintly brighter. “H-how’s it going?” 

The ghost ball made a slight dip, coming to eye level with Erasmus, so that, had it been a person, the two of them could have been in a friendly conversation. Erasmus gave a terrified smile. The ghost ball brightened more. 

“Oh my god, it likes you,” Pallas whispered, scrambling back to his feet. 

Erasmus was glad he had just gone to the bathroom. 

The ball began to drift toward the door, it’s movements in time with the music still playing from the music box. 

“You want us to follow you?” Erasmus asked, stepping toward the ghost ball thoughtlessly. 

In response, the ball went through the door. 

Pallas rolled his eyes. “Show off.” 

“Come on, Pallas,” Erasmus said, opening the door to find the ghost ball waiting. “Let’s see where he wants to take us.” 

“He?” Pallas asked as they drifted down the dark hallway. 

Erasmus gave a small nodded. “Yeah. Of course he’s a he.” 

The ball lead them to an old elevator which creaked open as the ghost ball approached. 

“You are so gay,” Pallas muttered. 

“Like you can talk,” Erasmus said, stepping into the elevator beside the ghost ball. After a moment’s hesitation, Pallas followed him. 

After a silent and awkward elevator ride, they emerged into what looked to be the mansion’s attic. “You know,” Pallas muttered as they followed behind the ghost ball, “we’re supposed to like, work here. Shouldn’t we tell the Regent about...him?” 

At the mention of the Regent the ghost ball disappeared with a flare of furious light. 

Erasmus and Pallas stood in the dark attic, frozen with fear. “Look what you did,” Erasmus complained. “You made him mad.” 

“My bad!” Pallas whispered back. “Here, I’ve got a lighter, let’s get back to the elevator-” 

But when he turned the lighter on, neither he nor Pallas made a move to head back to the elevator. Instead, both of their eyes were fixed on the painting before them. 

Most portraits were serious. Erasmus knew this best. He had a degree in art history after all. It took a lot of effort to smile for up to twenty hours of posing. So people tended to keep their faces placid, which turned serious, and became severe. Portraits with couples usually had one sitting and the other standing, to add a dynamic to the painting. They usually wore their best clothing, seeing as paintings were monumentally expensive and if it was going to be hung over your mantel for your descendents to see you might as well look nice. 

This painting was not like that. Instead, it was almost like a modern picture, and Erasmus marvelled at the progressive vision of the artist. The couple stood with a bookcase behind them, filled to the brim with books. Natural light streamed from unshown windows and the entire room seemed to be designed to let such light in. The couple stood together, in each other’s arms. While both men were very finely dressed, nothing they wore was stiff. Instead of wearing elaborate top coats and cravats, the men seemed to merely be wearing the casual attire of the very wealthy. The taller of the two men had his shirt partially untucked and sticking out of his red waistcoat, simply designed and obviously well-loved. His shirt collar was open, showing a patch of dark skin against his white shirt. The man was looking adoringly at the man in his arms, who looked appallingly like the Regent’s nephew. He wore a loosened cravat, which emphasized the long expanse of his neck. His shirtsleeves were rolled up hastily, and while his purple waistcoat was primly buttoned, it was wrinkled from activity. His piercing blue eyes looked back at Pallas and Erasmus, but in a way neither of them could imagine from their singular encounter with this man’s descendant. The man in the painting looked absolutely at peace, and unabashedly happy. He stared out at the viewer with a wicked smirk that spoke of trouble, but with eyes that simmered with affection. His arms were wrapped around his companion, one hand resting possessively on his chest. Erasmus had never seen such open affection in a portrait before. 

The painting, in and of itself, was shocking. Frankly, Erasmus was willing to bet it could be sold for a magnificent sum of money at auction, but that’s not why he and Pallas stood frozen to the spot, staring at it in fear and shock. No. The man in the painting, the one looking at the obvious ancestor of the Regent and his nephew...that man looked like...but it could not be so...And yet-

“Damen,” Pallas breathed. And Erasmus had to agree. The man in the painting looked exactly like Damen. 

 

_Laurent remembered when they met. Remembered the way his heart had pounded in his chest, the sight of him, so simple and beautiful and fierce. For his love had not been beautiful like the companions of his uncle, had not been beautiful like the heavy dresses and thick coats of their fashion, had not been beautiful like himself. One would not call him fine, could not say his features were delicate. But he was beautiful. Strikingly so. In a way that looked well-worn and well-won, like a summer’s day. His eyes fell to Laurent and Laurent’s breath had caught._

_“Hello, sweetheart,” He had said, a flirtatious grin on his face. He did not know, could not know, who Laurent was. Laurent’s family may have been the wealthiest in town, but his love was a foreigner. For all he knew, Laurent was within reach._

_“And who do you think you are?” Laurent asked, voice icey._

_They had met in the swamp lands. Damen, out riding to explore his new home, Laurent, out riding because it was what he loved. At that point, the swamp had belonged to noone and no house stood on its inconstant soil. Laurent had not been expecting to meet anyone, had never met anyone (who was foolish enough to ride in a swamp?), and was put out that someone had come to disrupt his thoughts._

_“I am Damianos,” the man said, as if it weren’t a ridiculous name to have._

_Laurent scoffed. “Damianos.”_

_“But you may call me Damen, if you prefer.”_

_Laurent preferred not to call him anything, so he turned his horse around and began to head home. “And am I deserving of your name in return?” Damen called from behind him._

_Laurent threw a lazy hand over his shoulder as his horse carried him further away from the stranger. “Farewell, Damianos.” He called._

_He didn’t allow himself to smile until the sound of Damen’s laughter behind him was gone._

_The next morning, he had found Damen sitting on a dry patch of swamp land, preparing a picnic. He had laughed, to see such a fine picnic spread out on a swamp floor, to see such a fine man spread out on a swamp floor._

_So it was truly no surprise when it came time to build their home, that they chose the swamp lands. That land had been there’s in all but writing for years._

_“It is foolish, to build a house in a swamp,” his uncle has said._

_But Damen’s hand had tightened around Laurent’s and Laurent could barely contain his smile. “It is merely on the edge of a swamp, uncle. I’m sure we’ll manage.”_


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have a Paschal cameo.

“What are you doing here?” A young voice demanded. 

Erasmus and Pallas spun around in fear, scrambling away from the sound. 

Before them, a young boy stood, his brown hair covered in what looked to be sapphires. He wore a nightshirt and gown. His feet were bare. In his ear he wore a single, dangling earring. 

“Uh, we were just...there’s was this...glow orb,” Pallas tried to explain, his hands flailing. 

“Who are you?” Erasmus asked, because the boy looked out of place in himself. Such a deep grimace, such a young face, such a powerful glare, and yet such fine jewels. 

“Nicaise. Who’re you?” The kid asked, crossing his arms. 

“I’m Pallas, and this is Erasmus,” Pallas said, pointing to himself and his companion in turn. 

“I like your earring,” Erasmus said with a small smile. 

Nicaise sneered. “Go fuck yourself,” he snapped. 

Erasmus paled, unsure what he had done. 

“Nicaise!” A weather-worn voice said as a man appeared from the thin air. Literally, from thin air. 

Pallas stiffened. More ghosts. 

“What? You heard him!” Nicaise retorted, glaring at Erasmus. 

The man, the ghost man, gave Pallas and Erasmus an apologetic smile. All in all, the man looked, in a word, friendly. Sure, he had the shoulders and muscle of a soldier, but he also had an open and placid sort of face. He looked kind. “I’m Jord, and you’ve already met Nicaise. It’s good to meet you,” the man said. 

“Nice to meet you too,” Erasmus said. 

“You’re a ghost,” Pallas said, eyes wide. Erasmus elbowed him. “What? It’s true!” 

“You don’t have to be rude!” Erasmus retorted. 

“Why’s that rude? Is it rude for me to tell you you’re alive? No. It’s just a fact,” Nicaise said. 

Jord gave a put-upon sigh. “Please, we have bigger problems than your bickering. The Prince is in trouble, and your Damen too.” 

Pallas’ brow furrowed. “Damen’s in trouble?” 

~*~

Nik had gone wandering after Damen. This had been a mistake, he felt immediately. He’d walked out of the room and immediately stumbled into the Regent. 

“Oh, hey, sorry man,” Nik said, horrified to discover that the Regent was even creepier up close. 

The Regent gave him a coy smile and Nik vomited a little in his mouth. “Quite alright, Nikandros. I was just coming to see you.” 

“See me?” Nik asked, wishing like hell Damen would come and save him, or Pallas and Erasmus across the hall. Where was everyone when he was being accosted by a weird dude? 

“Yes. You are the expert in carpentry, are you not?” 

Nik nodded, begrudgingly. “Yes,” he said, and wished he had followed in his mother’s footsteps and become a florist instead. 

“Well, I have some wood for you to look at,” the Regent said, spinning on his heels and heading down the hall. 

Nik closed his eyes and allowed the Regent’s words to wash over him. Who the fuck thought of a sentence like that and then let it come out of their mouths in a normal conversation? Why did these things always happen to him? 

The Regent lead him back to the main entrance of the house, where he took a sharp turn and lead him through a small door off to the side...which opened into a giant library. 

Nik caught his breath, head craning to look at the floor-to-twenty-foot-ceiling bookcases. An entire wall was made of glass which lead into a giant greenhouse. The entire room was painted a soft pink, the bookcases were painted a pristine white, and the floor was covered in a faded cream carpet. The entire room was open, with a small desk shoved in one corner, and a deep couch and coffee table placed in the center. The entire room looked well-loved and happy. 

“It’s beautiful,” Nik said. 

The Regent gave a noncommittal grunt. “I wanted you to assess the secret passage. Sometimes the wood hinges seem to get stuck.” 

Nik blinked. “Did you say, _secret passage_?” He asked. Creepy dude or no creepy dude, Nik felt like a little kid thinking of a secret passage in a fancy mansion. 

The Regent gave another coy smile and jostled the head of the bust on the desk. To Nik’s delight, a bookcase slid open, revealing a stone staircase beyond. 

Immediately, Nik was in the passage, running his hands along the stone staircase. “This is amazing!” He called to the Regent. 

“I’m glad you like it,” the Regent said and locked the trap door shut, sending Nik into complete darkness. 

~*~

“Fucking creepy ass, poncy, _white people_ ,” Nik complained as he stumbled blind up the secret stairs. “Locking contractors in their creepy ass, poncy secret passageways. Without a light!” He tripped over something and yelped as he fell to his knees. 

By the time he got to the painting-door that let him escape the passage, Nik was covered in cobwebs and his lost dignity. “Damen!” He called as he stumbled through the creepy hallway, because somehow, he knew, knew in his _bones_ that this was Damen’s fault. He opened the door to a room which held nothing but a ringing phone on a pedestal. “Who is rich enough to have a room just for the phone?” Nik asked the universe as he picked up. “Hello?” He called into the receiver. No one answered. “Well fuck you too!” Nik said and slammed the phone back into its cradle. 

“Fuck everything, what the fuck is going on, fuck my life,” Nik chanted as he stormed through the unfamiliar hallways. “Where the fuck is my room? Fuck everything, fuck Damen, fuck creepy white dudes, where the fuck am I?” 

As he drew breath to continue his rampage of speech, he heard someone mumbling. Nik spun toward the sound, realizing that a wall tapestry he had just stormed past was actually a door. Slowly, he drew back the carpet. 

Beyond, the room was lined with curtains. In the center was a small, circular table upon which stood a glowing green orb, in which, a man’s face floated. 

Nik’s mouth went dry. 

The man in the orb was talking, muttering things under his breath. Nik moved to put the carpet back where it belonged and hightail it the fuck away from the creepy orb dude when suddenly the man in the orb turned to him and gave him a warm smile. “Nikandros!” 

Nikandros nearly shit himself. 

“Do I know you?” He asked. 

“No,” the orb man said, “come sit.” 

And for some fucking reason, Nik did. 

The chair he had been directed to was cushy and Nik immediately felt like he was a soothsayer addressing his ball for portents. 

“I am Paschal,” the orb man said. 

“Nice to meet you, Paschal,” Nik said, because he wasn’t sure what the protocol was for meeting men in orbs. 

“You must save the Prince, Nikandros,” Paschal said. 

“Excuse me?” 

“It is the only way anyone can rest. This place was built on happiness. Only one person could ever bring his happiness, well...two...but only one in this house. You must return happiness to this house, only then will the Prince be at peace.” 

“Prince? What’s going on? Whose happiness am I supposed to bring?” Nik asked, overwhelmed by the orb man and the weird house and the fact that he hadn’t slept in ages and he was talking to a orb man and why was the orb man looking at him like he wasn’t just a contractor? Why did these thing happen to Nik? Why couldn’t _he_ get peace. 

“Your friends are looking for you. You must go to the black crypt and find the key. The key will open what you seek,” Paschal said. 

“A way out?” Nik said hopefully. 

“The key will open what you seek,” Paschal repeated. 

“Did you say crypt?” Nik asked. 

“You must hurry!” Paschal shouted. 

Nik stumbled to his feet. “Alright! I’m going! Which way to my friends?” 

 

“To your left!” Paschal called as Nik dashed out of the room. 

“Nik?” Pallas called from a staircase Nik hadn’t seen the first time he walked past. Nik skidded to a halt. 

“Pallas!” He shouted, climbing up the stairs. “Erasmus!” He called as the man appeared. A boy came with him, frowning deeply. “Random child!” Nik said, because he was mildly hysterical at this point. The boy sneered and disappeared out of thin air. Nik blinked. In an instant, the boy was back, mere inches from his face. He stabbed a fork into Nik’s thigh, causing the man to crumble on the stairs. 

“Nicaise!” An unfamiliar voice chided. 

“Nikandros!” Erasmus and Pallas shouted in unison, scurrying down the stairs to help him. 

“Why,” Nik whimpered, clutching his thigh, “why must these things always happen to me?” 

_The only thing Laurent had brought with him from his old home was the music box. That night, lying in their new bed in their new home, Damen had pressed his nose to Laurent’s neck and asked him about it._

_“It was my brother’s,” Laurent explained._

_“Auguste?” Damen asked, curious. Laurent rarely talked about his brother. It hurt, to remember what he had so suddenly lost._

_“When I was small, I would go to his room when I had a bad dream. He would tell me stories until I felt better. We’d lie in his bed for hours until I grew tired again. Before I fell asleep, he would always play that music box. He said it had been a present from mother. He said whenever I was frightened, all I needed to do was play the music box and she would be there to make me feel better. Of course, he was wrong. It was Auguste who was there to make me feel better. And he was always there.” Laurent’s head swam from sharing so much. He still wasn’t used to it, the fact that he was permitted to share, that Damen would listen and not use it against him. That Damen simply wanted to hear whatever he wanted to say._

_In response, Damen pressed a slow kiss to Laurent’s neck. Laurent turned to him, pressing their lips together. “I love you,” He breathed into Damen’s lips. “I love you so much.”_

_Damen replied with a sweet kiss to his lips, and another, and another. He kissed down Laurent’s jaw, dragged his tongue along his collarbone. Laurent breathed a laugh, pulling his arms around Damen’s neck. “I love you, Laurent. I have loved you since the first moment I saw you.”_

_“That fast huh?” Laurent chided breathlessly as Damen’s hand wandered down his bare chest._

_“You’re the one who likes it slow,” Damen retorted, lips against Laurent’s stomach._

_“Not right now, I don’t,” Laurent complained as Damen teased his hands across his thighs.  
Damen laughed and Laurent laughed with him. Joy bubbled between them easily. They were in their swamp, in their new home, in their bed, and neither of them had ever been happier._


	4. Four

Damen wandered the halls, partially looking around, mostly looking for the Regent’s nephew. In the back of his mind, his conscious, which sounded a lot like Nikandros, told him it was a stupid idea to flirt with a bitchy client. Damen had spent years ignoring that voice, and he continued to do so as he meandered through the mansion. 

There was something nagging him about this place, something on the edge of his mind. Walking through its halls, he felt like he was in a dream. But there were too many things that didn’t match up, every time he thought he had put his finger on it, he would notice something out of place. He wasn’t sure why he thought such things were out of place, he just...felt it. 

His feet took him to a thin hallway at the back of the house. Here, the walls were all lined with windows and they were left uncurtained to show off the swamp and graveyard beyond the house. In the night, the graves were barely perceptible, but somehow Damen knew they were there. It was a small lot, surely, only enough for a crypt or two, lost family members, but it was there, tucked to the back of the house. He wondered who was buried there. 

Without thought, he made his way down the hallway and came to a simple door, the only room along the hallway. With the ease of familiarity that Damen didn’t understand, he opened the door and gasped. 

The room before him was everything it should be and nothing it wasn’t. The entire room was painted a soft cream, with light blue curtains hanging neatly beside the floor-to-ceiling windows that covered an entire wall and lead out to a balcony that seemed to wrap around the entire back side of the mansion. Beautiful hardwood floors were left bare, and drew Damen’s eye to a small fireplace to his right, where a simple mantel place was decorated with the carvings of vines. On the mantel sat only two things: a clock that wasn’t working, and a wedding band. Beside the band was a small square that was dust-free. Damen wondered that could have been there, beside the ring. Looking at the band, he suddenly realized he had entered some place private, a sanctuary to which he did not belong. He did not belong here, in this room with a beautiful, giant, white bed and a small desk tucked in the corner, covered in books. He should not have seen the opened closet, filled to the brim with clothing, nor the roses, now wilted in a vase on the side table. This room belonged to the owner of that ring and to the person who had put that ring on the mantel. It did not belong to him. 

He spun to leave, only to find the Regent’s nephew in the doorway, looking vulnerable and shocked. 

“I...sorry, I got lost,” Damen explained. 

The man turned icey, his blue eyes going cold in an instant. “Leave,” he said, hands fisted at his sides. 

Damen didn’t look back as he fled the room. And he felt as though he deserved it when the door slammed shut behind his back. 

~*~ 

Nikandros screamed as Nicaise drove their hearse through the mansion walls and into the swamp. Beside him, Pallas and Erasmus were gripping to the sides of the carriage for dear life, faces pale. 

“Are you sure this is the best way to the crypt?” Pallas called, gritting his teeth as Nicaise gave a laugh of delight and took a turn at break-neck speeds. 

“Perhaps ‘best’ isn’t the right adjective,” Jord conceded, sitting next to Nicaise and trying his best to reign in the boy. “Fastest is more like it. Also, remember, Nicaise, we have living passengers this time, you can’t just go running through-” He was cut off as Nicaise drove them through a low tree branch, decapitating the both of them. “Nicaise!” Jord yelped as his head returned. 

Nik gave a yelp of disgust. “Watch the road!” He hollered. 

“Watch it yourself, jackass, I’ve got this!” Nicaise said, spurring the horses on. Beside him, Jord gripped the seat with both hands. 

“I think...I might puke,” Erasmus admitted, clutching his stomach. 

“Don’t you dare,” Nik growled. 

“It’s alright, we’re almost there,” Jord said, turning to the contractors. “Just be careful, the black crypt is...” 

“Creepy,” Nicaise supplied. 

“And also dangerous,” Jord added. 

“Great, creepy and dangerous, my two favorite adjectives,” Nik grumbled as the hearse came to a jerking halt. 

“Good luck,” Jord called to them as they scrambled out of the hearse and headed, with wobbly legs, in the direction he pointed. 

“We’re going to need more than luck, but thanks!” Nik called over his shoulder. Beside him, Erasmus doubled over and vomited into the bushes. Great. 

“Alright, squad, let’s find this key, get Damen, and get the fuck out of here,” Nik said. 

Pallas, who had been rubbing Erasmus’ back as he wretched into the bushes, grinned. “That’s a great mantra, Nik. Find the key, get Damen, get the fuck out of here.” 

Erasmus, quickly recovering from his stomach issues and nodded. “I like it,” he said as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. 

“Great. Glad we all agree. Now let’s roll,” Nik said, storming toward the black crypt. 

Pallas ended up staying outside to stand watch. 

“Why does anyone have to stand watch? There’s no one out here,” He had complained. 

“Hey, we’ve seen some messed up shit over the past few hours and frankly, I’m not here to make assumptions. If something happens, we need you to have our backs,” Nik said. 

Pallas and Erasmus looked at Nikandros’ crazed expression. The man had clearly cracked several hours ago and was going off of steam and spite alone. 

“Get the key, get Damen, and get the fuck out here,” Erasmus said, gripping his arm. “The key bit should be a piece of cake.” 

It was not a piece of cake. At first, it had been fine. The pair had made their way down the creepy crypt. They came to a grave that was shockingly simple, made of sturdy wood and practical clasps. In comparison to the elaborate, golden coffins surrounding it, the central tomb was almost...impoverished. And yet, Erasmus noted and Nik pushed the coffin open, it was carved with obvious care. The same decorative carvings that were found in the mansion were carved on the sides of the wood, and the body within was dressed in what would have been superb finery. 

“Who were they?” Erasmus breathed. 

Nik whined in disgust as he pulled the key from the man’s stiff hands. “Can we just leave? I really would prefer to leave now.” 

Of course, it wasn’t that simple. 

Erasmus let out a scream of horror as skeletons began surrounding him in the water. He gripped the key close to his chest, kicking the undead attackers out of his way. “Nik!” He shouted, scrambling for purchase on the slippery wall. 

“Erasmus!” Nik replied, swinging his arm out to give his friend a boost. 

They stumbled up the steps, screaming the entire time as zombies slowly made their way after them. “It’s a good thing the undead are slow as fuck!” Nik panted. 

At the doorway, Pallas was calling to them. “Is everything ok? Why the fuck are you all wet? What the fuck?!” Pallas’ face turned pale as he saw the swarm of zombies pursuing his friends. “Hurry up guys!” He called, gripping the door. 

“Thanks for the tip!” Erasmus retorted as he and Nik pushed through the door. Immediately, Pallas slammed it shut. A zombie’s arm reached through the crack in the door before it could close, gripping Erasmus’ shirt. In a fit of rage, Pallas viciously high kicked the arm until it went flying across the graveyard. 

Erasmus and Nik watched in shock as Pallas kicked the door a few more times for good measure. “Stay. Closed!” He commanded, breath coming ragged from his chest. 

“Pallas?” Erasmus asked, stepping toward his friend. 

“I am turning in my two weeks notice!” He shouted. “I am turning it in! Frankly, I would quit on the spot but let’s be honest, I need the recommendation on my job application! But it’s there! Let it be noted! Two weeks notice!” 

Erasmus smirked. “I don’t know why you’re telling us this. The only person who can accept your notice is Damen.” 

“ _Fuck_ Damen,” Pallas said in a harsh whisper and then immediately regretted it, going red as he began to calm down. “Oh my god, I’m sorry guys,” he said, looking at Erasmus and Nik’s amused faces. “I...please don’t tell Damen I said that. I really like this job...I mean, under normal circumstances.” 

Nik chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, Pallas. Tonight has been a giant clusterfuck of pain, I’m sure Damen would understand.” 

The trio made their way back to the hearse, where they found Jord and Nicaise playing strip poker. Jord was losing miserably. The poor man was sitting on the grave of Elmira Vere in just his boxers and cravat. Across from his, Nicaise was wearing all of his clothes, overtop of his own clothes, a wicked grin on his face. “Do you surrender, Captain?” Nicaise asked, holding his cards close to his chest. Jord visibly paled, which was impressive, because he was dead. 

“Hey,” Pallas said, eyeing Jord. “We’re done here. Can you take us back now?” 

Nicaise nodded, the cards disappearing from his hands. “Of course.” 

The pair of ghost floated toward the hearse, Jord still half naked. Pallas stared at him, transfixed. 

“Is it weird that I’m attracted to a ghost’s body?” Pallas whispered as the squad followed. 

“Yes,” Nik said immediately. 

“I mean, can we really blame him though?” Erasmus said. “Damen’s attracted to the Regent’s nephew, and he’s a ghost too, so like, we’re all sinners here.” 

Nicaise, catching the tail end of their conversation, scoffed as he urged the horses into a gallop. “Laurent isn’t a ghost.” 

“Say what now? The dude is like, totally dead, he was in that painting,” Pallas said. 

“So was Damianos,” Nicaise retorted, rolling his eyes. 

“You know,” Erasmus said, “I really would love an explanation of all this.” 

“Same!” Pallas groaned. 

Jord pursed his lips, eyes sad. “You certainly deserve one.” 

_The construction of the mansion was the most fun Laurent had had in years. He and Damen worked on it every morning, coming up with different ideas, different rooms they wanted. “We have to have a library,” Laurent demanded._

_“Oh, can we have a private sitting room too? You know, one upstairs that’s just for us. With windows all around it, and yellow walls,” Damen replied._

_They were lying on their backs in the swamp, a worn blanket beneath them._

_Laurent turned to his lover, a curious smile on this face. “Yellow walls?”_

_Damen shrugged, cheeks pink with embarrassment. “I don’t know, it would be nice, don’t you think? It wouldn’t have to be set for guests constantly, it could be as clean or as messy as we wanted it to be.”_

_Laurent grinned. “That sounds lovely,” he whispered, kissing Damen’s cheek. “I want a lot of windows too. I’m tired of my uncle’s stuffy house. There’s so much...of everything. I want there always to be sunlight.”_

_Damen smiled, “the front hall should have a large window overtop the door. That way, when we have parties, we can watch the moonrise.”_

_“And you could carve designs on the woodwork,” Laurent suggested, cupping Damen’s hand between his own and pressing a sweet kiss to his knuckles. Damen loved woodworking. He wished there was more opportunity for it, Laurent knew._

_Damen gave an excited gasp. “I could! Oh, that would be so fun! It could be a subliminal theme throughout the house!”_

_Laurent laughed, enjoying his lover’s joy._

_“And what of our bedroom?” Damen murmured after a pause._

_Laurent’s laughter subsided, his eyes turning to Damen. Laurent’s face turned pink, thinking of a bedroom that was theirs. He thought of Damen lying in bed, the early morning rising behind him, his dark skin glowing underneath pale sheets. Laurent traced Damen’s arm._

_“Windows,” he nearly whispered, “And a balcony. And a gigantic bed.”_

_Damen gave him a wicked grin. “Gigantic you say?”_

_Laurent rolled his eyes. “Yes, So that I will have plenty of room despite the fact that you’re abnormally large body will be taking up most of the space.”_

_Damen laughed, pulling Laurent close. Laurent rolled his eyes, attempting to smother his smile as Damen nuzzled into his neck. “I love you,” Damen whispered._

_Laurent’s heart stuttered. “I love you too,” he murmured into Damen’s hair._


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a day late! My friends came to visit and I got distracted! Here you go! Also, shit's going down.

Damen eventually found his room, was relieved to find that it was where he remembered it being. This whole night had been overwhelming and Damen was ready for a very good night’s sleep. He opened the door expecting to find Nik, but instead, he found the Regent’s nephew sitting on the bed with a music box between his fingers. 

“This was on the floor in your friend’s room,” the Regent’s nephew muttered. “I had wondered where it had gone.” 

The man’s voice was soft, defeated, but his shoulders were taught. Damen froze in the doorway, unsure how to proceed. 

The Regent’s nephew turned to him, eyes smoldering with an emotion Damen couldn’t place. “Please, come sit,” he said, patting the bed beside him. 

Damen paused for a moment, before going to sit beside Laurent on the bed, careful not to touch him. 

“I’m sorry...about...You surpised me. I should not have treated you with such malice,” Laurent said, surprisingly easy with his apology. 

Damen cleared his throat. “Oh, it’s fine,” He said lamely because he wasn’t sure Laurent realized that he was malicious toward everyone, why should Damen be different? 

Laurent shook his head, never taking his eyes from the music box in his hands. “It isn’t. I made a promise and...I’m sorry, Damen. I’m so very sorry.” 

“What’s...what’s going on?” Damen asked, his head swimming. Why were his words filled with so much? Why were Damen’s words filled with so much?

Laurent gave a pained sigh. “I...I don’t know why my uncle brought you here but...I must tell you a story, and you must not interrupt until it’s finished.” 

Damen nodded mutely, feeling nauseous. 

“Many, many years ago, lifetimes ago, there was a boy who was raised by his uncle. His brother had died, his parents as well, and he was alone. So very alone...And his uncle was...cruel. This boy became a man who was cold and cruel and lonely. And he did not know better than to mistrust. Until he met a man in a swamp who was kind and warm and beautiful and who loved him. So they built a mansion in the swamp and were happy. They had never been happier in their lives. Or so it appeared. One night....They were throwing a ball, to honor their home being finished. All their friends were there, and it was perfect...I thought it would be perfect forever, which was foolish. Because his love clearly didn’t feel the same. That night, after wishing me farewell he went off and poisoned himself and how could you do that? How could you do that to me? I thought...I thought...You told me to wait for you, and so here I am!” Laurent said bitterly, throwing his arms out, “Waiting! You left me with my uncle, Damen! You promised...You promised he would never...How could you do that to me?” The last question was barely audible as Laurent fought hard against the tears welling in his eyes. 

“Laurent,” Damen breathed, cupping his love’s face. 

“Damen,” Laurent sobbed, tears finally streaming down his face. “Damen.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Damen breathed, pressing his lips to Laurent’s cheeks. “Please, don’t cry, love. I’m so sorry, so sorry.” 

Laurent pressed their lips together desperately. “Tell me you’re him. Tell me you’re real.” He said between harsh kisses. 

“It’s me. I remember, it’s me,” Damen said, gasping as Laurent’s cool hands slid up his shirt. 

“Prove it,” Laurent ordered and Damen shuddered. 

“Sweetheart, you’re very eager for someone who isn’t positive I’m your husband,” Damen retorted. 

Laurent froze, eyes going hard. “Prove it,” he demanded again, his hand pushing Damen off of him. 

Damen sat back up, looking down at Laurent, his Laurent. Hundreds of years alone had left him as sharp and as cruel as he’d been when they first met. But Damen could see the hopeful vulnerability underneath the surface. Laurent was looking at him as if Damen had the ability to break him. It made Damen’s chest hurt, to see his husband look at him like that. 

“I didn’t kill myself,” he muttered. “How could I have done that? I wanted to spend every day with you, why would I have killed myself when I was the happiest I had ever been?” 

Laurent’s eyes narrowed. “Damen, I found your body. You’d poisoned yourself, I saw it.” 

“Your uncle poisoned me,” Damen said simply. There was no malice. It had happened a life ago. 

“Excuse me?” Laurent asked, eyes furious. 

“Laurent, why would I have killed myself?” 

Laurent’s jaw trembled. “Because...Because you didn’t love me.” 

Damen wanted desperately to kiss him, but he held himself back. Laurent needed room to breathe, needed room to release his pain. Instead, he rubbed a tentative hand across his calf. “Oh my love, you are the only person I have ever loved. I would never have left you willingly.” 

“When I...but you didn’t recognize me. When I saw you in the dining room...I could hardly bear it,” Laurent confessed, fresh tears silently trailing down his face. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t remember. I’m sorry it took so long for me to come here,” Damen muttered, rubbing slow circles along Laurent’s leg. 

“Damen,” Laurent muttered, opening his arms. 

Instantly, Damen was in them, pulling Laurent close to his chest. Laurent sobbed into his chest, his lithe body shaking violently as hundreds of years of pain and aloneness washed over him in an instant. “I love you, Laurent. I love you so much.” 

In his arms, Laurent shuddered, sobs finally subsiding. “My uncle killed you?” He asked evenly. 

“Yes,” Damen said, remembering the wine being poured, the token of good wishes, the feeling of disquiet in his body before he fell on the floor of his husband’s beautiful library. 

Laurent stiffened in his arms. “Laurent,” Damen said uneasily. 

“He killed you,” he said again, voice filled with an even, cold cold rage. 

“Laurent it's alright now. It's over.” 

“That's easy for you to say. You haven't spent the last hundred years waiting. You haven't spent the last hundred years unable to escape from him!” Laurent shouted, pulling himself out of Damen’s embrace. 

“You could have left,” Damen said. 

“No. You told me to wait for you. And I told you always. That was the last thing you asked of me. And so I waited right here in our house and watched him destroy our home with his claustrophobia and I didn't have the strength to stop him.” 

“Why?” Damen asked, flabbergasted. Laurent always had strength. He was the strongest person Damen knew.

Laurent shuddered. “Because this house reminded me...of what could have been. And as long as he was here, the pain of your loss was hidden. I had other problems to worry about.” 

Damen nodded, rubbing soothing circles of Laurent’s hip. “Laurent, are you dead?” 

Laurent turned to Damen, an amused smile on his face. “Do I look dead?” 

Damen shook his head. “No.” 

Laurent ran his hands up Damen's chest. “Do I feel dead?” 

Damen gave a breathy sigh. “No.” 

Laurent pressed as soft kiss to Damen's lips. “Do I taste dead?” He asked coyly.

Damen grinned. “I can't say I would know what the dead taste like.” 

Laurent returned the smile. 

“But how is that possible? No one can evade death.” 

Laurent shrugged. “After you died I contemplated just ending it all. It seemed it would make the whole thing faster. So Death came in the night and I was waiting for her. And she asked me if I wanted to die and I said I wanted you. And she said I could not have you by dying and so I asked not to die, to be allowed to wait exactly as I was until you came. Oddly enough she agreed.” 

Damen chuckled, pressing his nose into Laurent’s neck. “Only you could convince Death not to take you. Did she not ask for anything in return.” 

Laurent frowned. “That was the odd thing. She said the debt was already paid.” 

Damen raised his head. “By whom?” 

Laurent shrugged. “I don’t know. I was too upset at the time to ask.” 

“You must have been horribly upset, to not have asked such an obvious question,” Damen joked. 

Laurent pressed himself closer to Damen, burying his head in his chest. “You had died...I...You were all I had.” 

Damen held him close, pressing kisses to the top of his head. “I’m so sorry, Laurent.” 

Laurent’s grip tightened on his shirt. “Damen promise, _promise-_ ” 

“I promise. Anything, anything Laurent, I promise.” 

“Do not leave me alone here again. Do not leave me with the ghost of my uncle.” 

“I won’t. Nothing could keep me from you now.” 

After a long silence, Laurent’s shoulders began to shake under Damen’s hand, and what he first thought was a sob turned out to be a laugh. “You came back,” Laurent explained, eyes wild with delight and agony, “you actually came back.” 

Damen pressed kisses to his face, his head, his neck. “Of course. Of course I came back. I told you I would. Always, always, love.” 

“Always,” Laurent repeated as they lay down together in an over-fine bed. On the side table, the music box rested, worn from so many years of disuse. 

~*~

The Regent found Nicaise and Jord in the attic, eating cookies in front of that wretched portrait. “What are you two doing?” He demanded. 

Neither man jumped at the sound, but the Regent was pleased to see Jord had nearly choked on his cookie. “Just...taking a rest,” Jord explained. 

“Well, your rest is over. Come, we have business to attend to.” 

“What kind of business,” Nicaise asked. 

“We have a man to murder...for a second time,” the Regent explained with a coy grin. 

“Like hell you do!” Nik shouted, stepping out from behind the painting. “I’m going to kick your ass into the next dimension, bitch.” 

Behind him, Erasmus and Pallas scrambled out of their hiding places, both looking mildly curious to see how Nik decided to kick a ghost’s ass. 

Nicaise rolled his eyes. 

The Regent grinned. “Oh good. We don’t have to wrangle you all together.” He snapped his fingers and the three men were thrown into a giant wardrobe. Jord rose, helpless to save them. 

“Let them go!” Jord demanded, eyes fierce. 

The Regent chuckled. “No. We’ll need them as they are, I’m afraid. Come, it’s time for a funeral.” 

_Damen was dead. Laurent gripped his wedding band in his hand. Before him was the coffin of his love, carved as well as Laurent could with the same markings Damen had so carefully produced throughout their home. In Damen’s hands, Laurent had placed the key to his chest, filled with his letters and journals, anything with his handwriting on it. Laurent couldn’t bear to look at them._

_“I am, truly sorry, Laurent,” his uncle said, coming to stand beside him. “Clearly, he didn’t love you half so much as he claimed. But what could you expect from a foreigner?”_

_Gripping Damen’s wedding band tightly, Laurent turned to leave the crypt, determined never to step foot in it again._

_He did, of course. He visited the crypt nearly every day._


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll! This is the last week of the story! Thanks so so much for your amazing feedback! The last post will be on Friday, so I hope you look forward to it!

Old memories swam around in his mind, mingling and dancing and splattering across his new life and his unconscious decisions. He remembered whites, and yellows, sun-bleached colors and nut-brown hands. His mother had died in childbirth, but his father, and his brother, loved him well enough. He remembered running through his mother’s gardens, the sound of his father’s laughter behind him. His home was a palace and he was a prince. Everything he wanted, he had. 

Until his father died, and his brother, and he found himself in a swamp in a foreign country, waiting for lord knows what. Nikandros had begged him come back home. (In the back of his mind, the part that was still conscious, he marveled at Nikandros’ loyalty, to return with him, to return from the dead for Laurent, because Damen asked him to.) But Damen could not return. Not yet. It hurt too much. His white and yellow and sun-bleached home felt too beautiful, too empty. The ocean did not bring him a steady joy anymore. 

And then, from the swamp came the answer, and the answer was the most beautiful man he had ever seen. Damen had watched him approach with a sense of awe. Somewhere, he thought, his family was weaving this interaction, was grinning wickedly to see their Damen tremble so in a swamp, before a man who was yellow and white and as sun-bleached as his home. The man’s eyes fell to Damen’s and his breath caught, to see the blue of his ocean so far from home. “Hello, sweetheart,” he had managed to say, falling into casual flirting to prevent his tongue from saying something silly like Are you an angel? Or Would you tremble under my hands? Or Will you marry me? The man was cold and nameless still and Damen burned for him. 

He remembered what his father had said once, when someone asked why he had built his home on the edge of a cliff at the edge of the sea. “Why such a precarious house?” They had asked. 

“Precarious?” His father had said. “What on earth is precarious about this house? It is imperative that you build your house on solid ground, and that’s exactly what my grandfather did.” 

The man had crinkled his nose. “I beg your pardon, but how is this house on solid ground?” 

His father had laughed, running his hand through Damen’s hair with affection. “My grandfather’s wife was a cold sort of woman. She had the glare of a queen and the wit of a genius. Where she went, my grandfather followed. When she came here, she told my grandfather that here, here was where she wanted to live. So my grandfather built her this house, on the solid foundations of their love. It will never fall, nor be destroyed. No house built with such love ever could.” 

Damen, watching the man who looked like home leave him in what would become their swamp, laughed. He laughed because the man was ridiculous, and he laughed because all he had ever wanted, ever since his father had told that story, was someone who would look at an impossible thing and say, “Will you do this with me?” As if it were simple. As if it was not impossible. And he might have just met such a person. 

As he came into waking, a small smile on his face, Damen felt Laurent shift beside him, nuzzling into his neck. 

Something pressed against Damen’s mouth. At first, in his sleepy daze, he assumed it was some part of Laurent. But it was not. Damen went rigid, choking on fumes as his attacker tightened their grip on his body. 

“Damen?” Came Laurent’s waking response too late. Damen’s world went black before he could respond. He fell into unconsciousness, the imprint of his husband’s body still pressed to his chest. 

When he awoke, it was with his hands tied to a bedpost. The Regent sat in an armchair before him, a cruel smirk on his face. 

And Damen remembered. Remembered him and knew, with a rising fury, that the home he and Laurent had built had been destroyed by this man alone. “Where’s Laurent?” Damen demanded. “Where are my friends?” 

The Regent ignored him, deciding instead to pour some tea. “How much do you remember, Damianos?”

“Everything,” Damen spat. “And Laurent knows. I told him.” 

The Regent gave a hard grin. “Finally.” 

“What?” Damen growled. 

“You, Damen, have given me everything I have been longing for. Thank you for your service, truly, I am grateful.” 

“What’s going on?” Damen demanded with a rising panic.

“I was determined to bring you here, so that I could finally destroy my nephew once and for all. He could not die until you came back, I had to wait...Oh, I had to wait so long, but you finally came back. If I had known how troublesome you would have been I would have killed Laurent at the start but no matter. Now everything will be set in place.” 

The Regent took a sip of his tea and grinned. “You have two options, Damianos. You may die before or after your husband.” 

Damen tried to break his bonds, cursed viciously as they drew blood from his wrists. “No one is going to die.” 

“If you are good, I will let your friends go free,” the Regent continued as if Damen had said nothing. 

“Where are they?!” Damen demanded. 

“Now, I have Nicaise preparing the poison. I thought it would be more ironic that way, seeing as it worked so well the last time.” 

“Why did you kill me?” Damen asked, panting heavily. “The first time, why did you kill me?” 

The Regent grimaced. “Because you were in the way. Laurent was given everything, everything. He did not deserve such power. I had assured that power would fall into my hands. Laurent was playing nice, until you came. You came and he wanted this bloody house in this bloody swamp. You came and you started to catch on. So you had to die.” 

“But what does that matter now, you’re dead!” 

“It matters because you and my wretched nephew are still alive!” The Regent shouted. “It matters because that brat has been haunting my house for a hundred years waiting for you! And now you can die, and I would watch you both die slowly. You deserve to die slowly for the pain you’ve caused me.” 

Damen felt that rolling his eyes wouldn’t be worth the beating he was likely to get in retaliation. “Where. Are. My friends,” He asked again instead, boiling rage coiling in his stomach like a snake. 

The Regent chuckled. “Currently? They’re in a trunk, slowly suffocating to death.” 

Damen’s stomach fell. 

“But you didn’t answer my question, Damianos. Which would you prefer, to die before or after your husband?” 

Damen said nothing, attempting to escape his bounds. 

“If you don’t decide, I will decide and you will have to spend the last moments of your life in a torture of my choosing.” The Regent said, finishing his tea. 

Damen remained silent. 

The Regent smirked. “Fine. Jord, bring in Laurent.” 

Jord, who had been huddled in the corner and out of Damen’s sight, stirred and headed for the door. “Jord,” Damen called, remembering Laurent’s delightful gardener. Jord didn’t look at him as he left, his eyes trained to the ground. What had the Regent done to him, to force him to stay as a ghost in this house? But, Damen realized, perhaps it was not the Regent that had made Jord stay. Perhaps Jord stayed for Laurent. Perhaps they had a chance. 

The Regent chuckled beside him. “I wonder what will be worse, watching Laurent watch you die, or watching you watch Laurent die.” 

Damen closed his eyes tight. If he had to choose, he would rather watch Laurent die. Laurent did not deserve to see him die, to live with his death for a day longer. He had already lost Damen once, Damen would do anything to ensure he wouldn’t see that again. And yet, neither of them would die. No one would die, he was positive. When Laurent and Damen were together, nothing could beat them. Besides, Damen knew everything. 

He had been too afraid to tell Laurent, hadn’t wanted him to feel even more grief over events he couldn’t control. And there was a part of Damen that trembled at the idea that he had figured something out that his conniving, untrusting, manipulative husband could not. All it had really taken was one conversation. One conversation and a letter. But Damen had known quietly for a long time that the Regent had been the cause of Auguste’s death, had let his nephew grow sicker and sicker until it was too late to do anything but make him comfortable and wait. Damen had thought foolishly that all he needed to do was get Laurent out, that the Regent would not try to hurt him when Damen was there. He had never thought the Regent would come for him. Damen was a lot of things, but he did not have Laurent’s mind. 

And perhaps that was another reason he hadn’t told Laurent when he had the chance. He was ashamed to admit to his clever husband that he had been so idiotic he had brought on his own death, had walked into a vacant room of his own volition with the man who he knew killed his brother-in-law. Laurent loved him, but he couldn’t bear the idea of Laurent thinking he was stupid. Laurent deserved someone as smart as he was. 

But Damen knew everything now. And he thought, with a suppressed smirk, he might know more than the Regent. Because if Jord had stayed as a ghost for a hundred years so Laurent wasn’t completely alone with his uncle, if Nicaise had stayed to help spite the Regent, then Damen knew, without a doubt, that Auguste had stayed. 

And if Auguste was still around, then there was only one place he’d be hiding. Damen felt the loosened bonds fall from his wrists. 

On the side table, the music box sat, waiting. 

~*~

Nikandros was friends with Erasmus and Pallas. Of course. He liked them. And yet, Nikandros would never choose to be stuffed into a trunk with either of them, let alone both of them. Nik found himself squashed between Pallas’ elbow and Erasmus’ knees. His foot was in Pallas’ crotch and his face was in Erasmus’ armpit. All in all, Nik was the most uncomfortable he had ever been. 

To make things worse, it turned out Erasmus was claustrophobic. 

“Bud, you’ve got to calm down,” Pallas said as Erasmus went into a panic attack. 

Nik rolled his eyes. “As if that has ever helped anyone. We’ve got to get out of here.” 

“How?!” Pallas shouted. In the enclosed space, the sound pierced Nikandros’ ears. 

“Please, Pallas,” Nik hissed. 

Beside him, Erasmus was starting to make odd noises. 

“We have to open this trunk somehow. Can you move?” Nik asked. 

Pallas shifted a shoulder. The trunk titled to the left. 

“Great! Let’s move together, see if we can jolt the old hinges open,” Nik said. “Erasmus, you hang tight, ok? If you can help, we’d love the assist, but you can be benched for the time being, we don’t mind.” 

He felt Erasmus nod behind him. 

Together, he and Pallas shifted left. The trunk shifted. Pallas whimpered. 

“What’s up? You ok?” 

“Yeah,” Pallas huffed, “You just kneed me in the balls is all.” 

“Oh. My b, dude.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

“Right, let’s go again. Erasmus, you alright?” Nik said. 

Erasmus nodded. 

They heaved again. And again. And then the trunk was crashing down stairs and everyone was screaming and Nik was regretting his position in Erasmus’ armpit but Pallas was regretting his position in his crotch more. 

The stairs, of course, were the kind that went on endlessly without a break. For terrifying moments they were completely airborne and Nik thanked his lucky stars no one threw up. 

When they finally crashed to the floor, the trunk burst open and from it, Akielos Contracting burst forth, bruised and screaming. 

They landed before a pair of bare feet. 

“Finally,” Nicaise complained. “I thought I was going to have to do this all on my own.” 

And Erasmus turned and vomited at his feet. Nik took his victories where he could. 

~*~

Jord walked Laurent down the hallway. “Nicaise is getting the trunk,” he whispered, lips barely moving. “But we could not find the music box.” 

Laurent grinned. “Don’t worry. It’s where it needs to be.” 

~*~

“You have the key, yes?” Nicaise demanded as they hurried back up to the attic. 

“Y-yes,” Nik said, handing the key over. 

“Thank you,” Nicaise said, falling to his knees before a small trunk. “Have any of you ever performed an exorcism?” 

“Can’t say I have. You guys?” Pallas said after a tense pause. 

Erasmus, who was still queasy from the whole trunk event gave a noncommittal shrug which could have been a yes or a no. 

“Erasmus?” Nik asked. 

“Well,” He said, voice weak, “I mean, this one time I had my tarot cards read. It was terrifying.” 

Nicaise rolled his eyes. “So that’s a no. Great. Well, good thing is, it’s pretty easy. We just need to chant this.” He pulled cheat sheets from the trunk and handed them out. 

“Is this even English?” Pallas asked, because at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if he suddenly forgot how to read. 

“No,” Nicaise said, the ‘idiot’ implied. 

“Ok, so let me get this straight, we’re going to exercise the Regent, save Damen and Laurent, and get the fuck out here?” Nik said. 

“Well Jord and I can’t exercise him. We need to get out of the blast radius as soon as possible,” Nicaise said. 

“Right,” Nik nodded. “Let’s do this bitch.” 

_Sometimes, Laurent would wake in the middle of the night trembling, the memory of his lifeless brother choking him. He was alway terrified of getting sick, terrified of dying without a drop of life in his veins. It had been a tragedy, to see his lively brother brought to Death’s doorstep without the strength to even open his eyes. Auguste deserved more than that. So much more. Auguste, Auguste, his brother._

_Sleepy fingers drew patterns on his hip. “Laurent?” his husband murmured, face still buried in the pillows._

_“Damen,” Laurent replied, voice soft._

_“You ok?” He said, coming back to himself._

_Laurent brushed an adoring hand across Damen’s cheek. “I’m fine now,” he said, soothed by Damen’s hand against his hip, by Damen’s struggled with wakefulness just for him. “Go back to sleep.”_

_Damen opened his arms, a silent question, and Laurent gave a weak smile. Without protest, how could he protest, Laurent nestled into Damen’s arms. “I love you,” Damen muttered, already half-asleep again._

_“I love you too.”_


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter: The Best Brother in the World tm

If there was one thing one should never do, it was underestimate Laurent. This was the man who made a deal with Death, after all. He had lived alone in a mansion for a hundred years with his uncle. He had watched his uncle finally die, screaming in his bed. He had watched Nicaise die, watched Jord wither away. The Regent had killed Nicaise, Laurent knew. Nicaise had told him. Why, after knowing what the Regent was capable of, would he not assume that Auguste had died by his hands? Laurent knew what the Regent wanted, what he always wanted. Auguste was directly in his way. Besides, he knew where his brother was. 

His plan had had two parts: Wait for Damen, destroy the Regent. He knew he could not exercise the Regent without threatening the ghostly lives of Jord and Nicaise, and he knew he could not do it alone, could not bear to do it alone, if he were honest with himself. But he also, because he was Laurent, and because he was a conniving snake, had a few tricks up his sleeve. 

Laurent entered the room, and multiple things, most of which he had predicted, some of which he hadn’t. He had predicted Nicaise and the exorcism squad bursting into the room behind him. He had predicted Jord moving to take on the Regent.

What he had not predicted, what he could never really predict, to his chagrin and adoration, was Damen. It was always Damen. 

In the room, Damen was holding the music box like a weapon, and standing before him, between him and the Regent, was Auguste. Well, the ball of light Auguste had disguised himself as. The Regent was looking on in horror. 

“Now!” Nik shouted, rushing to begin the exorcism. 

“Everyone dead, leave!” Laurent shouted, suddenly horrified for the fates of his ghostly companions. 

But something shifted. Auguste transformed, appeared as himself. Laurent blinked hard. The light from the ghost ball he had once been came to rest on the shoulders of everyone but the Regent. “Don’t worry, little brother,” Auguste said. “He will be the only one taken.” 

Nik, Pallas, and Erasmus looked at the ghost ball that had become a golden man. Erasmus’ cheeks were distinctly pinker than before. They carried on chanting.  
Underneath the Regent, a burning fire erupted. The man attempted to run, but Nicaise kicked him back. “I don’t think so!”

The Regent fell into a pit of fire. Wind whipped around the room, bringing up the scent of sulfur and ash. All who were living choked on the smell. The Regent’s scream rang throughout the room, even after the last arm of fire dissipated. 

For a moment, there was silence. 

Then Auguste did something no one expected. He, still in the nightshirt he died in, cracked his neck and let out a high laugh. “Finally. God, I’ve been a ghost ball for too long.” 

Behind him, Damen cracked a smile. “You probably haven’t been kept up to date on meme culture, but the fact that you were a tiny ball of light is pretty funny.” 

Auguste turned, still grinning, to Damen. “Damianos! I am so glad I could actually meet you, dear brother,” he said, pulling Damen into a tight hug. 

“Good to meet you too,” Damen said, looking over to Laurent, who was standing beside Jord, hands now free of their bonds. He was watching his brother and his husband with such open adoration and relief. Within five minutes, Laurent had been stripped of a hundred years of stress. The pain was still there, would always be there, but Damen would fix that. Damen and Auguste both. 

Auguste followed Damen’s gaze and gave his brother a wicked grin. “Well played, Laurent.” He pulled his brother into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he muttered into Laurent’s shoulder. 

“And Jord! Nicaise! I’m sorry you died!” Auguste said, continuing his rounds around the room. Damen chuckled. This guy was definitely a social butterfly. 

“It’s alright. Had to happen eventually,” Jord said. 

Nicaise shrugged. “Honestly, it has its percs.” 

“And Erasmus! Pallas! Thank you for getting me out of that music box! It was getting awfully cramped.” He wrapped the two contractors in one gigantic hug. Both Pallas and Erasmus stiffened, unable to move in his embrace. 

“No problem,” Pallas said. 

“I’m glad you’re not a ghost ball anymore,” Erasmus said, still monumentally embarrassed that he had called with golden prince of a man a ghost ball to begin with. 

“I agree with you, there, my friend,” Auguste said, gripping his shoulder. 

Nicase cleared his throat, getting the attention of everyone in the room. “So, what happens now?” 

“Now, we move on,” Auguste said. 

“What?” Laurent said, going pale. 

“Brother, we’ve been dead for years. I’m sure Jord and Nicaise want a break,” Auguste chided. 

“God, yes,” Jord said at the same time Nicaise said, “Will there be apple tarts Beyond?” 

“I sure hope so,” Auguste said to Nicaise with a wicked grin. “Only one way to find out.” The man snapped his fingers and a beam of pale light flooded the room. 

“Wait!” Laurent called, stepping toward his brother. “You’re just going to leave?” 

“What else am I do to, Laurent? I’m dead. Besides,” he said, pulling his brother into his arms, “you need to leave this place. You’ve been waiting so long. It’s time to enjoy your life.” 

Laurent nodded, shoulders stiff. “Have fun...in the afterlife.” 

“I’m sure we will!” Auguste called, coming to step beside Nicaise, who had taken Jord’s hand and took Auguste’s as well. 

The trio floated up the beam of light, through the roof and away, beyond. Beyond. 

Damen took Laurent’s hand as his husband wiped a tear from his face. 

For a moment, everyone was silent. 

“Does this mean we’re not renovating the mansion?” Pallas asked into the silence. 

Laurent scoffed. “Excuse me? There’s no way this place is going to be sold without some serious work. I can attest that every single appliance in this house is severely outdated.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep it?” Damen asked. 

Laurent gave him a critical stare. “I’m sure.” 

Damen laughed. After a moment, Laurent laughed with him. Then all of a sudden, everyone was laughing and no one could stop and Erasmus had tears running down his face. “We were trapped in a cupboard,” Pallas wheezed, “Nik’s knee was in my balls.” 

“Oh please, you love people’s knees up your balls,” Nik said, tears streaming down his face. 

Erasmus gave a faux laugh. “But Nik! You’re supposed to be our token straight guy!” 

Nik scoffed. “Just because I’m straighter than all your gay assses.” 

The room burst into another fit of laughter. When it subsided, a strange awkwardness took its place. 

“What are we going to do now?” Erasmus asked. 

Laurent grinned, looking at Damen. “Anything we want.” 

_One Year Later_

Their apartment was marvelous because it was dinky. Laurent adored it. He adored the fact that every blanket smelt like a mixture of himself and Damen, he adored that the faucet leaked and despite the fact that Damen was a contractor, there seemed to be nothing they could do to stop it. He loved that Damen had bought him a cat named Snowball and that that cat was as black as night and as bitchy as Nicaise. Most importantly, he loved it because it belonged to himself and Damen. 

Damen had woken before him, as he almost always did. This suited Laurent fine, it meant Damen had usually made breakfast by the time he got up. Today being Saturday, however, Damen’s arm slid around his waist and a cool nose buried itself in Laurent’s hair. 

“Good morning,” Damen muttered, voice low with sleep. 

“Good morning,” Laurent replied, rolling over to nuzzle into Damen’s chest. 

“I was thinking,” Damen began. 

“Never a good sign,” Laurent retorted. 

Damen chuckled and pulled Laurent closer. “I was thinking we could go to the park, if you wanted.” 

“And feed the ducks?” Laurent asked, because that was his favorite thing to do at the park. 

Damen grinned, eyes still closed. “And feed the ducks...We could get lunch at that place with the sticky tables, and then come back home and do nothing all day.” 

Laurent smiled to see his husband’s absolute delight at the idea of doing nothing. “Nothing at all?” He asked coyly. 

Damen finally opened his eyes, making Laurent’s heart flutter as those big brown eyes showered him with unabashed love. “Well, maybe not nothing.” He chuckled, running his hand along Laurent’s t-shirt clad chest. 

Laurent hummed, giving Damen a firm kiss. “Well, that sounds perfect.” 

“I thought so. And there you were saying none of my plans were good,” Damen complained as Laurent rolled out of bed. 

“Need I remind you of your idiotic idea to get killed via my obviously up-to-no-good uncle?” Laurent said, pulling a sweater over his head. 

“How, exactly, was that my idea?” Damen said with a laugh, coming to stand before Laurent and impede his ability to get dressed. 

“You're right, it was your thoughtlessness, which is far worse,” Laurent said, making a half-hearted attempt to keep his sweater on as Damen tugged it up, tracing his hands along Laurent’s bare stomach. “I thought you wanted to go to the park,” he complained. 

“I do, but we can go after I ravish you,” Damen said, hands moving up his chest, making the sweater bunch at his armpits. 

“Oh?” Laurent said, trying not to smile and failing miserably. 

“Do you not wish to be ravished?” Damen asked with false shyness. 

“Honestly, I could go either or,” Laurent said breezily, trying and failing to keep his tone indifferent. “it’s a weekend after all, we can do anything we want.” 

Damen knelt to bury his face in Laurent’s stomach, a smile crossing his face. “Anything we want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's a wrap! Gosh, this was such a stress reliever and I'm so glad everyone seems to have enjoyed it! I'm thinking about doing some other projects, I've got something in the works that's smaller, but I'm also moving across the country in the next few weeks so lord knows when all that will get done! Until then, thanks so much for being so responsive! I hope you enjoyed the completion of this fic!


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